


Unspoken

by cruisedirector



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Confessions, Fellowship of the Ring, Kissing, Long Hair, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Plot What Plot, Romance, Scents & Smells, Secrets, Silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-20
Updated: 2003-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir feels as though he has become caught in a dream. Yet it is a pleasant one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/gifts).



> I promised to write Lanna Michaels some Araboro schmoop. Thanks to Ashinae who walked me through the process and to Zasjah for the world's fastest test drive.

Aragorn comes to Boromir silently one night and makes love to him without explanation or regret, only a wordless plea in his generous hands and hungry kisses. The close heat of his body pulls Boromir from his half-sleep on the edge of their encampment, where he can guard the rear if woken by a shout from Legolas who stands watch. Though he is tired, Boromir enjoys the sensation of warmth radiating from the Ranger. Then Aragorn turns unexpectedly, taking Boromir into his arms, and he is as shocked to find Aragorn trembling as he is by the sudden, passionate embrace.

Uncertainly he holds the other man, unsure whether Aragorn is ill or in despair about some secret yet unknown to Boromir. He is surprised by the softness of Aragorn's unwashed hair against his cheek and by the sweet scent of pipe-smoke that clings to it, by the balmy dampness of Aragorn's breath gusting across his throat before the Ranger tilts his head and brushes a kiss beneath Boromir's ear, so swiftly that it might have been accidental. Yet Aragorn moans, and Boromir feels gentle wetness that could only be his tongue stroking his skin, traveling above the line of his jaw to his chin. Perhaps, thinks Boromir, this is some strange custom he learned from the Elves, though he feels absurd trying to hold still while Aragorn tastes him. Then Aragorn's mouth slides up to cover his own.

Boromir has rarely shared such kisses with lovers; the women of Gondor are either more demure or more deliberately seductive with the Steward's son, and men escaping the misery of the battlefield spare little time for this kind of tenderness. Aragorn parts his lips with gentle, insistent pressure, tasting his teeth and gums, his tongue and the hollow beneath it, the roof of his mouth and the ticklish soft flesh on the sides. Hesitantly Boromir meets him, unsure what the other man wants from him. He is wary of surrendering to this unexpected sensation, unwilling to be passive yet reluctant to pull away.

The hands clutching Boromir's back begin to ease their grip, sliding over his body. Untrimmed fingernails press pleasurably through his clothing, raising chills over his arms and making his nipples tighten. A spontaneous hum vibrates his nose and he finds his own hands moving over Aragorn's shoulders, fingers wrapping in the other man's hair. Aragorn shifts closer, pulling Boromir against him with a knee hooked over his leg, until he can feel Aragorn's swollen cock prodding him through his breeches.

Little light from the cold moon penetrates the trees, and Boromir feels as though he has become caught in a dream. Yet it is a pleasant one, making his body yield quickly and urgently to his lover's touch. When his thoughts intrude, he wonders how Aragorn knew that he would not refuse him, for this is a longing he had not admitted even to himself, though it takes only moments for him to realize that he has long harbored it. For another moment he wonders whether this is a test of his resolve, but Aragorn's shaking fingers and quiet, needy sighs persuade him that the other man's desire is sincere.

Aragorn's fingers move to the laces of Boromir's breeches, then hesitate as if waiting for a signal. Boromir gives it to him, reaching for the ties that bind the cloth over Aragorn's erection and fumbling in the dark to loosen them. He feels his own cock deftly freed to the cool night air before warm hands cover it, cupping and stroking, until he is nearly overwhelmed by the need for relief from the throbbing ache brought on by the contact. His fingers tangle in Aragorn's laces, curling into fists. Feeling his tension, Aragorn slides away and moves to help Boromir unfasten the breeches. The Ranger draws out his cock and rubs it in the fluid leaking from the engorged head of Boromir's.

A desperate whimper escapes from Boromir, yet faster than he can cringe at his own weakness, Aragorn moves down to lick the slit before wrapping his mouth over the hot flesh, sucking enthusiastically, returning one of his hands to circle the base while holding Boromir still with the other wrapped around a thigh. His tongue swirls around the crown of the cock while he slides his head and hand up and down, letting his fingers wander to stroke the sac and the sensitive spot behind it, never breaking the delicious rhythm.

Pressure builds swiftly, relentlessly, until Boromir bites down on his own hand to keep from groaning loudly. His other hand weaves into Aragorn's hair, attempting to slow him down without pulling, but Aragorn either cannot read his signals or chooses to ignore them. Boromir feels his groin beginning to clench and knows that in a moment he will have no choice but to stop completely or to spill himself down Aragorn's throat. Just then one of Aragorn's wandering fingers moves down and back, skimming, then pressing, fingertip snug against the puckered hole. There is not even time to grunt a warning as Boromir's entire body convulses, cock pulsing with the spurts that flood Aragorn's mouth.

Aragorn holds him while he recovers, arms wrapped around Boromir's waist, face pressed against his belly. After a minute he begins to kiss his way up Boromir's body, first under his clothing, then on top of the cloth when he can push it no higher. His erection surges against Boromir's thigh, and for a moment Boromir is afraid that this has all been a ploy to subdue him. Will the Ranger take him now as an earned reward? Yet Aragorn's hands are gentle on his face, turning Boromir's lips to his, kissing tentatively, as if afraid the taste of his own seed will offend Boromir; and after only a brief hesitation, Boromir returns the kisses hungrily, feeling a secret thrill at the reminder of his pleasure in the other man's mouth.

Groaning, Aragorn rubs his cock against Boromir's hipbone, and Boromir takes it into his hands, surprised to feel chills prickle across his skin again at Aragorn's sob of gratitude. He strokes gently, exploring, planning to take his time and draw out the other's enjoyment before bringing him to climax, but Aragorn clutches Boromir's forearm and groans again, thrusting into his palm. Remembering Aragorn's hands on him, Boromir suddenly guesses what he wants. The other man's thighs fall open when he nudges them apart, stroking around the balls and behind them, and when he leans down to kiss the tip of Aragorn's cock, Aragorn clenches his shoulder and cries out very suddenly, spraying liquid heat over Boromir's lips and cheek and into his hair.

"I'm sorry," whispers Aragorn, the first words either of them has spoken since he lay down beside Boromir, but Boromir wants no apology; he lifts his head, unable to resist grinning as he wipes thick fluid away with his hand. Aragorn watches, appearing to hold his breath for a moment before returning the smile. Leaning forward, he licks the wetness from Boromir's cheek, stroking his fingers through sticky hair until it has become soft once more. Before he has finished they are kissing again, faces hot with the friction from one another's beards.

Boromir can still smell Aragorn, in his hair, on his skin, all around him, and he wonders whether the others will be able to as well when they wake in the morning. But he knows they will not speak of it, and he finds that it warms him, much as Aragorn's arms warm him when they lie down together. He wonders briefly whether he should offer thanks or ask the many questions struggling to surface in his thoughts, but he forces them to be silent. And he remains silent himself, listening to the constant rhythm of Aragorn's heart.

 


End file.
